The Iguana in the Grove

A Short Story

A teenager is stuck at a men’s retreat, having realized he only participates in the secret rituals of the most powerful people in the world because his dad brings him. But when he meets an activist from outside, he sees a chance to regain his freedom and independence, and leave his mark on the rites of the Luminarians forever.

Please be advised that this is not intended to address any present-day political concerns, especially since I had the original idea when Obama was still in office.

I’d kinda forgotten just how many conspiracy theories I rolled into this.

This story is also collected in Advanced Word Associations. You can also check out my story “Predator Hunt” in the latest Dragon Gems anthology, or any of my other fiction. As always, thank you for reading!

Brayden Caine stepped out of his cabin with an empty backpack. A few yards away, former Secretary of Defense Dave Penfold was wearing a bathrobe, holding a bottle of beer, and urinating on the trunk of a redwood. His back was turned, so Brayden eased the screen door to avoid letting it clap shut and get his attention.

But the secretary peeked over his shoulder, noticed him, and raised his bottle without pausing the stream. "You got the time there, Son?"

Brayden checked his watch. "One thirty PM." He had eaten a sandwich out of his father's cooler for lunch, but his nerves rattled him so much his stomach was starting to growl again.

"Is it?" Mr. Secretary stopped the stream, adjusted his robe, and drained his beer into his mouth. "Didn't realize I was up that early. Say, you ever hear how I beat Saddam Hussein in arm wrestling?"

"I'd love to, but I really can't chat right now," Brayden said. Maybe Brayden wasn't a kid anymore, but seventeen is still too young to watch a middle-aged Cabinet member leak on a thousand-year-old tree. "Got some business to take care of."

"Just do it right here." Mr. Secretary pointed at the redwood.

"I have to look for my father." Brayden broke off into a run.

He was lucky to get away. Secretary Penfold had a big problem shutting up, especially when drunk. If Brayden stayed, he'd be listening to that story the rest of the retreat. And probably have to watch him piss again.

The whole point of this retreat at the Grove was to let go and be yourself, to "set the lizard brain free," as they put it, and most here embraced that with gusto. This was the first Friday of Brayden's third year attending with his father. Since he arrived, he'd seen Wall Street CEO's wrestle in the grass, former Presidents share a bong on a patio, governors sing racist songs around a campfire, and white-haired congressmen grab each other's asses in the sauna. Dad always said it was a privilege to be here.

But if that were true, why didn't Brayden feel it?

At the center of the camp was the main hall, where the high priests of the Luminarians—the Gators, the Frillnecks, the Grand Monitor—set up their offices, vestments, and shrine. Attendees at the retreat called it the Herpetarium.

Brayden hopped up on the porch and stepped inside.

The walls were built from colossal logs, possibly from some of the same redwoods that surrounded it. The stuffed heads of slain deer, bears, and moose hung all over the room above a checkerboard black-and-white tile floor. At the far end of the lounge, a bartender served the types of drinks the Secretary of Defense had been drinking and whizzing out before. Various men milled about and smoked cigars, without a single woman in sight. Brayden didn't see his father anywhere.

One of the men turned, smoke pouring from his mouth like an old movie monster: former President Graham Theodore. Ever the fixture at the Grove. "Hey, you're Caine's boy, aren't you? For a second I almost mistook you for your old man."

"I was actually just looking for him. Have you seen him around?"

"Lemme check—there, by the window. Let's go say hi." The President clapped his hand on Brayden's shoulder. "Caine! Yo, Caine! Got your boy here!"

Stewart Caine stood by the window drinking a cocktail. He turned away from his chat with a polyester-shirted venture capitalist, saw Brayden, and walked with swaying feet over to President Theodore. His cocktail swirled with green and silver—the mechagodzilla, his favorite. "Missssssster President. Brayden."

"Afternoon, Dad," Brayden said. "Where've you been?"

"You know, here and there," his father said. "Just telling Scorelli over there about the patent we just filed for Bluetooth beltbuckles."

"You really think that's going to work out?" the President said. "Remember 'smart press-on nails'?"

"Hey, if it weren't for your tax breaks, I'd have never recovered from that."

Brayden pointed at the mechagodzilla. "How many of those have you had?"

His father counted on his fingers. "Not enough." He slapped the bar. "Yo, Chauncey, a 20,000-Fathoms for my son, here."

"Dad, I don't think I can—"

His father jabbed the President on the arm with his finger. "Hey, in a little bit we need to go to the Kitty Cabin. I hear they've got a great selection this year."

The President grinned. "I love the way you think. How about it, Brayden, you in?"

"I, uh, don't know," Brayden said. "I kind of have—"

A drink got shoved into Brayden's hand. It looked like mint mouthwash, and smelled like blackberries. "Don't be nervous," his father said. "It's about time you tried that place out, met some of the girls. Go on, drink, it'll take the edge off."

With both his father and the former President of the United States staring at him, Brayden took a sip. It dropped into his stomach and launched straight into his brain. "Oogh. Listen, Dad, I've been thinking."

"That's your problem, Son, you're always thinking. This place isn't for thinking, it's for having fun, setting the lizard free, and all that."

Brayden took another, bigger sip. He'd first tried a 20,000-Fathoms at last year's retreat, and he had to admit, it had a nice, sweet flavor. "Look, the only reason I came here was to say I can't go to the Kitty Cabin today. I have other stuff to do."

"Like what?"

Like something that could get Brayden kicked out of the Luminarians, if he was lucky. "It's a secret." He was supposed to meet her out there in the woods, assuming no one else had caught her.

"A secret?" President Theodore said. "The Grove is no place for secrets."

"A surprise," Brayden said.

"Well, can you at least spare a moment to drink with your old man?" Stewart Caine's hand rocked to and fro, rattling the ice in his glass.

Brayden looked into his 20,000 Fathoms. "I guess I can finish this one drink."

And so he did, together with his father and the President. Then one drink became two, and two became three.

By the end, Brayden felt like his head was made of cotton balls and his stomach was full of molten rock.

He staggered out of the Herpetarium helping the President hold up his limp, but still-conscious father. Stewart Caine was mumbling some song, too blasted by endless mechagodzillas to form a clear sentence.

Brayden lowered him off the porch, only for his dad to wrench himself away and start unfastening his belt. "Dad, no."

"Kitty… cab'n…" His pants dropped, and he pulled his feet through and removed his boxers. "H'r I commmmme!" With everything flopping around freely, he zig-zagged across the yard, past the reptile idols, toward the north camp, where the Kitty Cabin was waiting.

Brayden started to run after him, but the slightest motion made his stomach squeeze in on itself.

"He'll be… um… fine," President Theodore said. "I'll go catch up. You… do whatever you were gonna do. See you at the Komodo Rite." And he jogged after Brayden's father, yelling, "Yo, Stu, wait up!"

It wouldn't have been Brayden's first time at the Kitty Cabin anyway. Dad was just too drunk to remember dragging him there before.

But now he was an hour late. He started flinging his feet forward toward the patch of tall grass that grew between the redwoods between the camps. He hoped she was still there.

He caught himself on one of the idols, a stone lizard with a lion's mane. He could taste the 20,000 Fathoms, and it was coming from the wrong direction. No, he could fight it.

He staggered into the grass, far enough that the chatter and music from the camp was just distant noise. There was a walking trail beside it, where he could see a group of state governers swaying together, going the other way. They stopped at a lizard statue and prayed to the spirits of their reptilian ancestors. Brayden watched, and waited.

He doubled over and puked.

As he spat the last bits of alcohol and digested sandwich out, he checked the governors. They waved and gave him a thumb's up. Yes, congratulations to Brayden for failing to keep his lunch down.

They started back down the trail. Toward the Kitty Cabin.

But now Brayden was alone in silence. No wonder she chose this place as her hiding spot.

She usually left some sign she was around, something no one else would think to notice. Yesterday it had been an unlit cigarette posted on its end. Today, let's see… If his brain would just stop doing backflips… There. An unopened Snickers bar. "Audrey," Brayden said.

The grass and leaves shifted and rose up. A pair of brown eyes gleamed out from a face covered with green and brown paint. Audrey Cera was wearing combat fatigues under a blanket with forest debris woven in, as if she were hunting the world's most dangerous game. She was also the only woman in the entire Grove besides the girls at the Kitty Cabin.

"At least now I know why you're late," she said. "Feeling better?"

"A little." Brayden rubbed his eyes and felt his stomach punch itself. "My father insisted."

"Doesn't take no for an answer?"

"Nope… lizard brain…"

"They really do live and die by that motto, don't they? How's my cover?"

"Still safe." Brayden had discovered Audrey three days ago, while stepping out to the woods for some peace and quiet. Well, not so much discovered as tripped over her. "I really don't think you have to worry. That's some seriously good camouflage."

"Has to be," Audrey said. "I still remember what happened to Bryce last year."

"Me too."

Bryce Canyon was an activist journalist from the same organization as Audrey, which had been trying to investigate and disrupt the retreat for decades. Canyon had infiltrated the Grove, recorded some conversations, and got as far as photographing the Komodo Rite, before the Frillnecks caught him. Five days later, he left the Grove minus two fingers, and plus one milquetoast story about "political summer camp" that no one read.

Brayden could not let that happen to Audrey. Maybe it was because she was the only woman he'd met all week. Maybe it was because she didn't make him smoke huge cigars, like the guys from the Military-Industrial Council, or chug hard liquor, like the President, or… well, do what Dad was probably doing now. Compared to them, Audrey was all right.

"I've thought about it," Brayden said, "and I want to help you any way I can."

"You're sure about that? If anything goes wrong, it won't be good for either of us."

"I know. I just… I don't know what I believe anymore. The more I look up about Luminarianism, the less it makes sense, and the less I like what it does. And honestly? There's only so much booze and sex and more booze a guy can take."

"I feel you, really I do. I escaped a situation like yours once. Lots of my friends have. You always have a chance for a new life."

"Really?" Brayden lowered himself further. "Then… could you take me with you?"

"Well, I guess now that you mention it… sure. When you and I are done today, I'll get you out of the grove and introduce you to my friends. I hated the idea of leaving a kid like you in a place like this anyway. But first, I was hoping you could help cause a little chaos."

Brayden glanced toward the trail. Secretary Penfold was dancing along the path, too drunk to care when his bathrobe opened up and showed off his junk. But he was also too drunk to care what Brayden was doing.

"What kind of chaos?" Brayden said.

"Well, I've heard there are certain instruments they use for the Komodo Rite."

"Like the Amphisbaena and the Gauntlets?"

"Exactly. What would happen if they went missing?"

He could see where she was going with this. "Well, they need the Gauntlets. They only have one pair, and you need them to hold the Komodo Dragon down."

"So it'd ruin the whole thing!"

"Oh. I'm not so sure about this. By 'chaos,' I thought you meant grafitti, or a stink bomb in the sauna."

"Oh no, that's kids' stuff. These are the bastards who tortured Bryce and sent my father to die in Iraq. They deserve nothing but the best."

"These are priceless artifacts, though. And they're for the most important ritual of the year. It'd throw the whole Grove into a panic. They'd give us way, way worse than they ever gave Bryce Canyon."

"Does that mean you won't do it?"

"I—I don't know. They're hidden in a shrine deep inside the Herpetarium. You can't just go in there. You'd have to be at least…"

"At least what?"

Pieces clicked together in his mind. If he did this, and brought that, and could get into the shrine alone… "You have to be at least an Iguana to get into the shrine."

"They're like the altar boys?"

"Sort of. But if you tell them you want to be one, they'll make you one, no questions asked. They need all the help they can get. Also, all the clergy wear masks. If I do things right, nobody'll even know it's me."

Audrey's teeth glittered in a sharp smile. "Mister Caine, I do believe we have ourselves a plan. How long do you think it'll take?"

"Just half an hour to get the robes on, and orientation isn't till Four."

"What about your dad?"

"He's at the Kitty Cabin, and probably blackout drunk. He was the guy running down that way without any pants on."

"Which one?"

"Touché."

"You have my condolences," Audrey said. "So you think you can meet me back here whenever you're done?"

"I can do that." Brayden stood up, pretending to adjust his pants so passersby might think he was pulling them up. Defecating in a patch of grass was second in popularity only to urinating on redwoods around here. "I'll see you later, Audrey."

"Later. And good luck," she said.

Brayden turned away, and ran out toward the Herpetarium.

In front of the Herpetarium stood three idols carved from redwood. On the left, a serpent winding around a tree, representing the reptiles that first came to earth and bestowed power to the Luminarians. On the right, a serpent with a lion's mane and almost human eyes, representing the creatures that would someday come to reward the Luminarians for their stewardship of the human race. Finally, in the middle, the prophet Jacobsen, who revealed these truths at top volume in the middle of the New York Public Library, and a year later, became the first Tyrannosaurus of the Ancient Luminarian Society.

Brayden gazed up at Jacobsen's mustache. Did even he believe what he'd said that night? Did he believe it when he expounded it to President McKinley? Was he just trying to provide a new opiate to the masses? Or maybe he was genuinely insane, and a lot of powerful people took advantage and joined him for the ride because his ideas happened to flatter them.

The Secretary of Defense passed by again, puffing on a joint his staffers back in Washington would be fired for carrying. Brayden darted up to the porch and steered toward the back before Mr. Penfold could spot him and regale him with another endless Middle Eastern dictator story.

Brayden went to the bathroom, then, still wobbling a little from the booze in his system, headed across the hall to knock on an office door. A man in a Frillneck mask opened the door and said, "May I help you?"

"Um, yes." Brayden's tangled his hands behind his back. Sweat gathered in his pits. "I'd like to participate in the Komodo Rite this year."

The Frillneck looked him up and down. "Have you been an Iguana before?"

"I was an Iguana two years ago, sir."

"Ah, good. Then you know the ropes. Let me take you to the sacristy. We should have a few spots left."

"Whatever you got."

The Frillneck led Brayden down past some other office doors, around the kitchen, down a flight of stairs. At the bottom they entered a room not much bigger than some of the walk-in closets Brayden had back home. The Iguana masks hung on a post by the window, and the robes from a wheeled luggage rack. A taxidermied gila monster decorated with flowers stood in a glass case as a shrine.

"Here you go," the Frillneck said. "Your backpack should be safe here, but when you pick it up, be sure to check for stinkbombs, ink bombs, or human feces. You know how the Skull and Bones folks can get."

"Right."

"Remember, if anyone's drunk, point them to the Herpetarium. If anyone's looking for Kitty Cabin, pretend it doesn't exist, even if you're inside it. And we begin orientation for the Rite at four o'clock. All Iguanas are required to attend, regardless of former experience. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. If you wish, you may meditate in the shrine before you come back out. Let the lizard brain run free."

"Let the lizard brain run free," Brayden mumbled.

He waited until he heard the Frillneck's footsteps on the stairs, and removed the robe from the rack. He kept his backpack on. It was empty, so he could use it to carry the items under the robes. He slid the robe over himself and mashed the bag as flat as he could. It wasn't very comfortable, with the straps pulling on him inside his sleeves, but he could manage. He put on the ceremonial sash, then pulled the iguana mask over his head. Now he could smell only latex, and see only what was directly in front of him.

He checked himself in the mirror. All this time, and he never realized this was basically a Halloween costume.

But now no one would know who he was. Even his father might have trouble recognizing his voice.

Brayden headed down the hall. There were two shrines at the end: an outer shrine that was open to the public, and an inner shrine that only the clergy could enter.

In the outer shrine, two men sat meditating in front of the altar in the center. Two torches burned on top of it, and the flicker danced with an eerie light and shadow on their faces. If either of them heard or saw what Brayden was doing, he was dead meat. On the other hand, they were probably so deep in meditation that they'd never notice a thing.

Brayden paced around the altar, taking each step slow and gentle, toward the open entryway to the inner shrine.

To his left, the komodo dragon, in its glass cage beside the door, perked its head up. Its tongue flicked, and Brayden jumped. The two stared into each other's eyes, one with maybe a few hours left to live, and the other a lizard about to have its throat cut.

Brayden checked, but neither of the two meditators had budged. He straightened his back, turning to the komodo dragon. "Don't look at me like that," he whispered. "I'm about to save your life."

Brayden stepped toward the inner shrine. The komodo dragon's eyes and nose and tongue followed him. Brayden forced himself to look ahead. It wasn't the lizard he had to worry about.

The inner shrine was on one hand the simplest room in the entire Grove, with only a long table flush with the far wall and with a few sacred objects on top of it. On the other hand, it was the most lavish, with mosaics hung on every wall, illustrating Luminarian history. It began with the lizards' arrival on Planet Earth some eight-thousand years ago, and moved through their founding of the great civilizations of Sumer and Minoa and Lemuria, through the prophet Jacobsen's revelation of his ancestry from the lizards, to the Luminarians' modern domination of the world.

Brayden had only seen them once before, the last time he was an Iguana, and only this time did he notice the beauty and artistry in these mosaics. The way the ancestral lizards were abstracted, the way the colors swirled like brushstrokes despite being stone, the way the story flowed from one image to the next.

They entranced Brayden so much, it took a minute to notice that he wasn't alone.

A man with silver hair and a chiseled face and a simple black robe stood to the side, gazing over the Rose Cross toward the Martyrdom of Medusa.

Brayden knew him in an instant. Only one man in the entire Grove could enter the inner shrine without his mask. Only one man commanded such respect that Brayden felt like a mere Gecko standing near him.

The high priest of the Luminarians, the secret ruler of the world, the man known as as the sixteenth Tyrannosaurus, turned his head.

"Come to pray, have you? Step on up."

Brayden took a step forward, and hesitated. The voice of Tyrannosaurus, a low, deep growl, resonated in Brayden's head. The man was venerated by every United States president over the last thirty years, had hosted galas for world leaders, celebrities, and scientists alike, and he was speaking to Brayden! What was Brayden supposed to say back?

"Don't be shy," Tyrannosaurus said. "You belong here as much as I do."

Brayden took another, longer step, and stood in front of the table right beside Tyrannosaurus himself.

But what if Tyrannosaurus didn't leave? What if he took the items for the Rite before Brayden could lay a hand on them?

"Have you enjoyed the retreat so far?" Tyrannosaurus said.

"Sure," Brayden said. The lie pinched his throat. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking…"

"Yes?"

"Is it true you ordered the Benghazi attack?"

"I may have a friend or two in Libya I correspond with on a regular basis. But now's not the time for talk." And Tyrannosaurus returned to his contemplation.

Hard to believe this one man had his hand in so many pots. Everyone from the President of the United States on down answered to him. On the surface he was such a sweet man, not unlike Brayden's grandfather.

Oh, geez, Granddad. If Brayden went through with this he might never see or hear from him again, never see the ranch or sit down for one of his homecooked steaks.

Or Mother, for that matter. Right now she was staying at the beach house in Long Island, assuming Brayden and Dad were having a good time. Oh, she knew about the Kitty Cabin, the drinking, the antics here in the Grove. But she was a proud Luminarian. Whatever moral example you set in photo-ops, in private, you could not be bound to any human system of decency. She was the one who had brought Brayden to his first Lodge Meetings, and taught him the Luminarian history, and introduced him to the then-sitting President who had now helped get him drunk. What would she say when she learned what Brayden was plotting?

And what about Tyrannosaurus? All his life, Brayden had revered him, kept a photo of him on his nightstand, wondered what question he'd ask him if given the chance. He'd respected Tyrannosaurus, too. Not once had Brayden ever seen him take part in any of the wildness at the Grove. He always sat above it all, as if he'd set enough of his reptile brain free that he had finally tamed it. And he was the only one without a public persona. He wasn't a politician or a businessman. Brayden knew nothing about him outside of his role as Tyrannosaurus, not even his real name. Just that he was wealthy, though no one could be sure how he got that way. He was invisible in ways most people in this grove deliberately rejected.

How could Brayden betray him, and Mother, and everything he'd ever been taught to believe in? He still had a chance to turn back. He didn't have to turn Audrey in, but he didn't have to see her again, either. All Brayden had to do was pay a little more homage to Tyrannosaurus, then leave, mingle for a while, and show up for orientation. This place wasn't that bad, was it?

Sweat began to pour under Brayden's robes. At least the mask hid him chewing his lip. The backpack, on the other hand, was beginning to chafe.

The holy objects of the Luminarians sat in front of him, just there in arm's reach, resting on a tray covered with snapdragons, under the eyes of Tyrannosaurus. In the center was the Amphisbaena, the knife that would soon cut the komodo dragon's throat. The crossguard was a snake with a head on each end, and the pommel was an ouroboros. The Gauntlets rested on each side, covered with bite marks and stained with the saliva of previous komodo dragons.

How could he think of taking all that? Even if the weight wasn't an issue, wouldn't everyone hear the metal clanking together every time he so much as budged?

Just turn back. Bow to Tyrannosaurus, then leave.

Tyrannosaurus turned. "About time to begin the preparations. Care to escort me to the lake?"

Brayden's entire body locked up. Here was his chance to back out! Hanging around with Tyrannosaurus only made him safer! Who'd ever suspect Brayden of planning something wrong with Tyrannosaurus around?

And yet…

Brayden could still taste the liquor and vomit, still see his his fathers' bare ass wiggling toward the Kitty Cabin.

"Is something the matter?" Tyrannosaurus said.

Brayden lowered his head. Even if Tyrannosaurus didn't take part in any of it, he still endorsed and oversaw it. "N-no, Your Sharpness, sir. I… I just want a few more minutes."

"All right, then," Tyrannosaurus said. "I won't keep you. It's good to see young people take such interest in religion. Gives me hope for the future."

Brayden watched every step Tyrannosaurus took, and didn't move until he heard the door shut down the hall.

He pulled his arms into the robe, slipped the backpack off, and zipped it open.

He turned back toward the holy objects.

All he had to do was reach out and grab. It would cause an uproar through the whole Grove. If he got caught, there was every chance he'd be killed. He wouldn't be the first person they'd put down for interfering. At least one Kennedy could attest to that.

What would Dad think?

If Brayden died an apostate, would Dad even feel sorry? When that one actor left, Dad never spoke his name again. If you weren't a Luminarian, you were barely worth considering.

What were the odds Mother would feel the same way?

He'd never been so terrified.

He held out his hand, hovered it over the Amphisbaena.

Finally he shut his eyes and stretched his arm.

He snatched the dagger, felt its heft and the grooves in the hilt, and dropped it into his backpack.

Now he could open his eyes.

He gazed into the empty spot on the tray. The reflection of a Halloween-grade lizard mask looked back at him. He could see the seams in the latex.

Brayden stuffed some of the snap dragons over the dagger, then placed the left gauntlet on top. After a few more snapdragons, he added the right gauntlet.

He zipped up the backpack. The gauntlets still clanked, but the flowers helped muffle them. He worked the bag back up the robes and squirmed his arms into the straps, then back through the sleeves.

The komodo dragon gave him a look as he left the inner shrine.

"You owe me, pal," Brayden said.

The two men were still praying in the outer shrine, or at least, looked like they were praying. One of them made a soft buzzing sound, which Brayden took a minute to realize was snoring. Brayden tiptoed around them.

He heaved himself upstairs and passed by the Frillnecks' office. The door was closed, and Brayden didn't hear anything inside. The clergy must all be on their way to the lake for early setup for the Rite. How long before they sent somebody to retrieve the objects, and realized something was wrong?

The Secretary of Defense was passed out on the couch. Everyone else—the Senators, the televangelists, the porn execs—crowded around in groups, cramping Brayden on his way out of the Herpetarium. There was so much chatter around no one could hear the gauntlets.

Brayden stormed out the door and stopped to take a breath. He'd made it out alive. Everyone outside was minding his own business, too shitfaced to care that he looked like a hunchback now. He jiggled the backpack a little, and found the noise inside softer than it seemed down in the shrine.

Time to meet Audrey.

The little plastic googly eye leered at him from next to a grass stalk. Brayden kept his eyes out for witnesses, or anyone who might be using this place as a bathroom. The coast seemed to be clear, at least so far. Audrey was around here somewhere. There were so many leaves and fallen branches collapsed over each other. Any one of them could be Audrey's camoflage.

He slipped off his mask. "Audrey," he whispered. "It's me!"

A pile of leaves shifted, and Audrey's face peeked out from underneath. "You scared the shit out of me. I thought you'd ratted me out!"

"No, don't worry, I did everything you asked." He worked the backpack out of the robe, squatted down, and zipped it open in front of her.

She sifted inside it. "No way." She dug around the gauntlets, picked up the Amphisbaena, and held it in front of her. "And this is what they use to kill the komodo dragon?"

"That's right. They can't do the Rite without any of that. The flowers are for padding."

She put everything into a knapsack she'd kept under her leaf blanket. "Thank you. For a minute I thought I'd signed your death warrant."

Brayden glanced outside the woods. Some drunk state governors were carrying an even drunker Bilderberg chairman down the path. No one noticed either her or Brayden. "I think we're safe for right now."

"Still hard not to get nervous," Audrey said. "The more people I see, the more anxious I get. I've never seen so many wealthy, powerful people in one place. It's right out of a Whitby Jones conspiracy theory."

"Actually, I think Whitby Jones is here this week. Usually stays at Camp Temujin. People can't bother the Luminarians if they think we can't be real."

Audrey bristled. "I always knew something was up with him. What about this man?" She got out her phone and held it up to Brayden. On it was a photo of a kind-faced, silver-haired old man. "Everybody's been fawning over him all day. Do you know who he is?"

"Oh, him? That's Tyrannosaurus, the secret supreme leader of the world order. He's the most important person here."

"Him?" Audrey clutched her head. "Oh, god, why him?"

Brayden leaned forward slightly. "What about him?"

"I sent this photo to some friends to find out what they knew. He's… I don't know what to say. Do you know about the 80's Satanic Panic?"

"No."

"It's when people all over the country suddenly thought that daycare centers were run by Satanists and putting children through horrible rituals and sexual abuse. It wasn't true, but people still got put in jail for it."

"And Tyrannosaurus made that up?"

"While turning his daycare into the real thing. Got out on a damn plea bargain. Ever since then he's been throwing parties for Luminarians and tricking girls younger than you into 'entertaining' the guests."

Brayden had never felt so cold. And he'd stood right next to him, thinking he was just barely less than a god! He'd nearly changed his mind because of that man! He'd gone to some of those parties!

Audrey sighed. "And he's the one who controls everything… of all people."

"I had no idea. Do you remember what you said earlier? About me… maybe… going with you?"

"I remember. You still want to?"

Brayden nodded.

"You still up for it?"

He nodded again. "My clothes are in the cabin, though. It shouldn't take long to get them."

"We can get you new clothes. Think about it, is there really anything left for you here?"

"Just a few things."

Audrey looked behind her. "All right, just don't take too long. See that tree out there? The one that's above all the others? There's a fence in that direction, with a hole cut through it. Crawl through that hole, and you've left the grove. Then just keep going straight ahead. My mentor's got a cabin by the creek, you can't miss it. Got it?"

Brayden stood up, and felt an ache in his stomach as he put his mask back on. Either hunger, or the last of that liquor, or both. He didn't have much of an appetite. "So I head toward that tree, find the hole in the fence, and keep going straight until I get to the cabin. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine." Audrey rose to her knees and gave him a thumb's up. "I've been getting in and out of here all week. Get what you need and I'll meet you out there."

Brayden turned away and marched onto the path.

He looked toward the lake, where an Iguana was helping the Grand Monitor prepare the idol. Some men were skinny-dipping in the water, and a pair of Christian Right leaders were sprinting toward the Kitty Cabin.

Brayden passed through the smells of sweat and beer and pot smoke. At this point, no one would find the sight of an Iguana strolling back to his cabin that unusual. He would only need a few things. He'd be long gone before anyone noticed.

He eased the cabin door open. His dad lay in the bottom bunk, still naked from the waist down, his snores blaring like a tuba section. Someone must have carried him back here. At least someone retrieved his pants; they were lying on the floor next to the bunk.

Brayden stuffed some t-shirts, pants, and a few pairs of underwear into his bag, as well as his copy of The Hobbit. He threw off the mask and robe and left them on the floor. As he zipped up his bag, he looked one last time at his father. For better or worse, Brayden had always done everything with Dad. He would probably never see him again… never tell him how he truly felt about the Luminarians… about the Grove… about Tyrannosaurus. His throat tightened up.

His father stirred. "Wh's th't? That you, Br… Brayden?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Goin' to the… Commode… Komodo Rite?"

"Not just yet," Brayden said. "Still kind of early. It's not even time for Iguana orientation yet."

"All right… Just lemme get some rest."

"Okay, Dad." Brayden picked up his bag and stepped to the door. "I'm heading back out now."

"See you later."

Brayden swung the door open. "Goodbye."

He walked out and eased the door shut behind him.

The Secretary of Defense was adjusting his robe after peeing on the redwood just outside. Brayden froze. Why always that redwood?

"Hey there." The Secretary marched toward him. "Where you off to? Wanna hear about my poker game with Ghaddafi?"

Before he knew it, the man's arm had locked around Brayden's neck, and no matter where he looked, Brayden couldn't find any way to escape.